


knife to meet you

by oathsworn (onelastchence)



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Career, M/M, only he can't cook so he enlists bumhyeon's help, there's a lift and knives, wangho throws a party to Impress Sungu, weak attempt at humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 20:39:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13256178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onelastchence/pseuds/oathsworn
Summary: If you ask Jongin what his first impression of Bumhyeon was, he’ll laugh and say, “I thought he was a serial killer.” If you give him a little more time - perhaps the awkward silence during which time you process what he just said - he may add, thoughtfully: “It was pretty hot, actually.”





	knife to meet you

**Author's Note:**

> aren't title puns the best? what do you mean i stole it off of google? i don't know what you're talking about.
> 
> this was originally supposed to be blank/peanut, but i am a firm believer of Listening To Your Beta, and thus. in the same vein, thank you to angel for being my beta (for the nth time, i don't know how you deal with me <3) and indulging me the pairings (and the plus one) in this fic with me, heh.

Bumhyeon wouldn’t say that he’s someone who gets into embarrassing situations a lot. Considering that he’s the only person out of his group of friends who has any self preservation skills whatsoever, he can usually avoid getting himself into any humiliating situations, or manage to talk himself calmly out of those that he couldn’t help but fall into.

 

The keyword here, of course, is ‘a lot’, because there _are_ times when Bumhyeon gets himself into situations he can’t claw himself out of, and those times are the _worst_.

 

He really should have seen it coming when Wangho had invited him over to his apartment for a Christmas dinner party. Wangho had no idea how to make anything besides instant ramen, but had, apparently, told a boy he found cute that he was excellent at cooking, fabricating lie after lie in a desperate attempt to impress him.

 

That, of course, led to him begging Bumhyeon to help him prepare for the dinner party that he had invited said cute boy to. There had been a lot of whining and begging before Bumhyeon had finally caved, unable to say no to Wangho’s sad, pouting, kicked puppy face (and promises of multiple treats to dinner should Bumhyeon agree to help him out).

 

As it is, he’s already beginning to regret saying yes to Wangho, and he’s only just _stepped_ into Wangho’s sorry excuse of a nook he calls his kitchen. “You have _nothing_ here,” Bumhyeon says, incredulous. And that’s really not an exaggeration, considering the lone brass pot Wangho probably uses to make ramyeon in, and a couple of utensils. “How is this kid going to believe you cook anything at all?”

 

“If he’s not an idiot, he won’t,” Kyungho, Wangho’s roommate, notes from where he’s lounging on the couch and snacking on chips.

 

“Your apartment is just upstairs, hyung!” Wangho whines, mostly ignoring Kyungho, apart from a glare sent his way. “You’ve got lots of stuff, don’t you? You could lend me some!”

 

Bumhyeon turns to stare, deadpan, at Wangho, but the boy just turns on the waterworks, and Bumhyeon should _really_ be used to this by now, but some maternal instinct is screaming at him to agree. “Fine,” He sighs. “But you owe me.”

 

Wangho whoops, rushing over and latching himself onto Bumhyeon’s arm. “Thank you, thank you! This is why you’re my favourite hyung!”

 

Bumhyeon laughs fondly, then even harder at Kyungho’s undignified squawk of ‘ _I thought I was your favourite hyung!_ ’.

 

“Come on, kid,” Bumhyeon tilts his head towards the door. “We need to get the ingredients.”

 

“Okay!” Wangho bounds into his room to grab his wallet as Kyungho rattles off a list of things he wants them to grab for him on the way: mostly booze, snacks, and more booze. Bumhyeon rolls his eyes at him, but Kyungho just grins and sends him fingerguns, knowing full well that Bumhyeon would indulge him regardless.

 

The shopping trip is eventful in itself, with Wangho having absolutely no clue what he’s doing - “I said to get parsley, Wangho, not basil.” - and being more nuisance than help - “Please don’t scream and drop the lobsters again.” - the entire time. Bumhyeon finds himself, as usual, doing most of the work, sending Wangho to grab Kyungho’s items. Alcohol and chips, at least, Wangho can identify.

 

They make their way home with arms full of bags and a lollipop in Wangho’s mouth, Wangho chattering happily to Bumhyeon about Sungu, the boy he wanted so badly to impress. “He’s in the first year of his history masters, and he’s _such_ a huge nerd about it. He gets excited talking about the Revolutionary War of all things, hyung, and I don’t even know what it is!”

 

“It’s the war America fought against England for its independence,” Bumhyeon replies, one eyebrow raised, slightly amused by how Wangho’s jaw drops at Bumhyeon’s knowledge. “I hope you didn’t tell him you knew anything about history, too.”

 

Wangho colours, and Bumhyeon is _this close_ to berating him for being an absolute idiot when the boy shakes his head. “No, but he-” He pauses, and Bumhyeon braces himself for something utterly stupid to come out of Wangho’s mouth. “He said I was cute regardless and that he’d teach me,” Wangho blurts out.

 

The hopeless romantic in Bumhyeon curls up snugly and coos. This Sungu kid is already doing pretty well in his book, and he hasn’t even _met_ the guy.

 

“You’re pretty smitten, aren’t you?” Bumhyeon states the obvious, smiling fondly. Wangho opens his mouth, as though to retort, then quickly snaps it shut, unable to come up with a response to that. Bumhyeon’s smile widens into a victorious grin. “Guess we’d better make sure dinner’s perfect tonight.”

 

Wangho looks at Bumhyeon with something akin to stars in his eyes. “Best hyung,” He beams, and Bumhyeon can’t help but melt.

 

Kyungho hollers for his stuff, hidden somewhere in his man cave of a room, when they push open the door to the apartment. Wangho starts unloading stuff onto the counters haphazardly, gingerly removing the lobsters from the bag and shoving them into the freezer, as per Bumhyeon’s instructions.

 

“Come get the cooking utensils from my apartment with me, Wangho,” Bumhyeon calls from the front of the apartment. Wangho rushes to him, like an excited child, from his room, latching onto his arm like a koala.

 

Bumhyeon’s apartment, as it would have it, is only 6 floors above Wangho and Kyungho’s. He lives alone, mostly. Sometimes Hojin gets too drunk and has to crash over in the guest room, or when Kyungho and Wangho have one of their bimonthly arguments that end up in one of them sobbing into numerous bottles of beer, wailing about how they’ve just lost their roommate.

 

“Who did you invite to the party?” Bumhyeon asks. “Please tell me we don’t have to feed an army.”

 

Wangho blinks, then lists off a bunch of names: “You, Kyungho hyung doesn’t really count, Hojin hyung, Seohaeng hyung and his new boyfriend live upstairs so I invited them, Sungmin hyung, Sungu, and 2 others you don’t know.”

 

Bumhyeon makes a face. While he’s considered to be good with people, he really doesn’t want to socialize when he has to cook in Wangho’s nook of a kitchen. Wangho used to call him the devil whenever he’s holding a knife, and Bumhyeon can’t even deny that accusation.

 

They get to his apartment, and he unlocks the door. Stepping in, Bumhyeon heads straight for his - well stocked, thank you very much, Wangho, perhaps learn a couple of lessons while you’re here - kitchen. He grabs a couple of pots and pans, hauling them into Wangho’s arms, throwing chopping boards and the other utensils he needs in them. “You head down first. Please get a pot of water boiling for me; I trust you won’t be able to burn that.”

 

Wangho sticks a tongue out at Bumhyeon as he leaves, the latter absentmindedly flipping him off in return. He grabs a cleaver and a sharp knife, unsure of which one to use for prepping the lobster.

 

Grabbing both, Bumhyeon holds them both in one hand and locks his apartment door. He presses the button for the lift and continues to ponder which he should use. He’s never had to prepare live lobster before, neither does he know the theory. He sighs; he’ll probably have to watch a couple of Youtube videos with Wangho.

 

The lift arrives, and he steps into it, pressing the button for the 1st floor. He continues to look at his knives - now with one in each hand - judging how sharp the blades are. He’s rather proud of the shine of his knife, his reflection winking back at him when he tilts the blade.

 

It’s like this, staring at his knife with an almost maniacal indifference, that the lift doors open to. It’s also like this, said almost maniacal indifference on his face, that a man finds him, when the doors slide open.

 

Bumhyeon looks up, startled, but it really doesn’t compare to the genuine astonishment and _fear_ on the stranger’s face as he jumps backwards. He quickly puts the two knives in one hand, hand dropping down, exiting the lift with his head bowed, cheeks burning.

 

He peeks backwards when the familiar _ding_ of the lift sounds, relieved to find the man gone. The man was probably more relieved than him, considering how Bumhyeon could be a serial killer, for all he knew.

 

“What took you so long, hyung?” Wangho calls from where he’s sitting on the couch. “I’ve boiled the water that you asked for!”

 

Bumhyeon shakes the thoughts of the stranger out of his mind, putting the knives down. He slaps his palms against his cheeks, walking over to the kitchen.

 

What he finds there immediately drives all embarrassment away, leaving only disbelief and incredulity.

 

“Wangho,” He says, staring at the hob. “What’s this?”

 

“The pot of water you asked for, hyung. Are you okay? Maybe suffering from early onset dementia?” Wangho looks at him with so much genuine concern on his face that Bumhyeon can’t decide if he wants to laugh or cry.

 

“Wangho,” He says, trying to sound as gentle as possible. “That’s a frying pan.”

 

* * *

 

After the initial fiasco of having to show Wangho what a pot and frying pan is, the meal preparation goes pretty smoothly. Bumhyeon is in his element, moving quickly from station to station. Kyungho tries - or so he says - to help, but eats the ingredients faster than Bumhyeon can get them away from him, and is quickly relegated to decorating duty instead. Wangho, bless his little heart, does his best, tongue sticking out with how hard he’s concentrating on peeling garlic cloves for the aglio e olio.

 

Deshelling the lobsters is a new experience, and Bumhyeon plows through it with all the experience garnered from Youtube videos and the perseverance of someone unwilling to admit defeat. He cuts himself multiple times, sharp pain making him wince, but the sharp edges of the crustacean’s shell never draw blood, and Bumhyeon counts that as a small, personal victory.

 

Wangho spends this whole time watching Bumhyeon work with the curiosity of a child watching their parent cook, silent to let Bumhyeon concentrate. He starts to get restless soon enough, squirming from where he’s leaning against the counter, and Bumhyeon chuckles. “You can go take a shower while I finish off, you know,” He says.

 

“No, it’s okay,” Wangho replies. “I’m the one who asked you for this favour. The least I can do is actually stay with you throughout the whole process.”

 

“Eye power isn’t exactly helping, you know,” Bumhyeon quips dryly. “You might as well doll yourself up for your precious history boy. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

 

“Hyung!” Wangho protests, turning an adorable shade of pink. Bumhyeon chuckles again, gently placing another small knob of butter into the frying pan.

 

“Just go,” He waves the whisk in his hand in the general direction of Wangho’s bedroom door, feeling rather like a mother sending her child off to prom for the first time. “It’s your party, anyway, you have to make a good impression as host.”

 

Wangho hops off, agreeing, but he’s rolling his eyes. “Everyone I invited already knows me, hyung.”

 

Bumhyeon finishes melting the butter, replying absentmindedly. “Sungu will appreciate it if you smell nice, Wangho, trust me.”

 

There’s a muffled protest that Bumhyeon can’t be bothered to make out; he’s too busy sliding the lobster into the butter, making sure to lay it away from himself to prevent any splatters. He’d thought that the butter would spit, like oil when in contact with water, but the result is a rather anticlimactic cook of the lobster, and he settles himself down on the couch with a timer turned on on his phone.

 

By the time the food is done, Kyungho has extricated himself from the depths of his room and draped himself over the back of the couch. Wangho is blow drying his hair in the bathroom, and Seohaeng has managed to tear himself away from Gyeonghwan for the time being to annoy Kyungho.

 

“I thought Wangho was going to cook,” Seohaeng comments, periodically stabbing his index finger into Kyungho’s side. “Thank god he asked you for help instead, hyung.”

 

“Get out of my apartment,” Wangho comes out of his room, pointing dramatically at the door as he does. “You’re not welcome here.”

 

Seohaeng puts a hand to his heart, gasping. “Fine,” He sniffs, swinging himself off of Kyungho and stalking towards the door. “See if I ever bring you out for meals ever again.”

 

Bumhyeon knocks them all, even the (for now) innocent Kyungho, on the head with his knuckles. “Stop it, all of you.”

 

“Yes, _mom_ ,” Seohaeng drawls out, collapsing back onto Kyungho, who grunts and swats at him halfheartedly. Wangho bustles into the kitchen to look at the food that Bumhyeon’s cooked on his behalf, and spends the rest of the time before the party officially starts clutching onto Bumhyeon’s arms, simpering and singing his praises.

 

The guests start trailing in after a while, and Bumhyeon knows most of the people who comes in anyways, so he makes himself comfortable with a glass of wine in his hand. He knows immediately which of the guests is Sungu, Wangho’s face turning into a scene of pure adoration the moment a tanned man walks through the door, a slightly smaller one by his side, who introduces himself as Jaeha.

 

“Where’s Gyeonghwan hyung?” Bumhyeon asks Seohaeng, who’s lounging by his side, after they’ve shared enough juicy details and future predictions about how Wangho’s relationship with Sungu would go. They’re currently watching Wangho fall over himself talking to Sungu, stuttering on his words and wringing his hands in the way he always does when he’s nervous. They also probably shouldn’t be deriving as much pleasure from watching Wangho squirm as they are. “Wangho said he invited him.”

 

“He’ll be here soon,” Seohaeng yawns, stretching luxuriously, eyes still locked on where Wangho’s usually pale skin is flushed a deep red. “He’s with Jongin right now. They’re talking about the weird robot they’re building together, or something. I didn’t understand all their weird jargon, so I came down first.”

 

Bumhyeon blinks at him, confused. “Who’s Jongin?”

 

“Oh,” Seohaeng replies. “He’s Gyeonghwan hyung’s new colleague. Kind of. He joined a couple months ago. Turns out he’s from the same university as Wangho.”

 

Just as Seohaeng finishes his sentence, Gyeonghwan walks in through the open door. “Speak of the devil,” Seohaeng mumbles, but there’s an unmistakable smile of fondness on his face. Bumhyeon rolls his eyes, amused, about to tease him for being so enamoured, when _that man_ walks in through the door behind Gyeonghwan.

 

He inhales sharply through his nose, attempting to hide himself behind Seohaeng, who turns around to give him a weird _look_. Gyeonghwan, however, of course, makes his way to Seohaeng first, and the man behind him tags along like a lost puppy.

 

“Hey Bumhyeon,” Gyeonghwan greets, leaning against the back of the couch, wrist resting casually on Seohaeng’s shoulder. He glances up at the lost puppy of a man, and gestures at him with his other hand. “Oh, this is Jongin, by the way. Jongin, Bumhyeon. Bumhyeon, Jongin.”

 

When they make eye contact, the man’s jaw drops open and he points at him. “You-”

 

Bumhyeon flushes, heat crawling uncomfortably up his cheeks. “I’m really sorry about what happened in the lift. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

 

Seohaeng blinks once, twice, eyes darting between Jongin and Bumhyeon. Bumhyeon can see the realization starting to dawn on his face, and, coupled with the sly, knowing smirk that Gyeonghwan’s already wearing, it makes Bumhyeon want to dig a hole in the ground and disappear into it forever.

 

“Wait,” Seohaeng is the first one to pipe up. “You mean the, and I quote, _really cute potential serial killer in the lift_ , that you met this afternoon, is _Bumhyeon_?”

 

 _Really cute potential serial killer in the lift_ , Bumhyeon mouths quizzically. He can see the man - Jongin’s -  face turn as red as his own, and he’s kind of glad that he’s not the only one in this conversation who wants to die. Probably.

 

Gyeonghwan hasn’t said anything thus far, whether out of want to watch how much further Bumhyeon can embarrass himself, or out of pity, Bumhyeon doesn’t know, but is grateful for. “Come on, Seohaeng,” Gyeonghwan says, trying - and failing - to hide his growing smirk. “Let’s leave them to get, ah, _acquainted_ with each other, shall we?”

 

Seohaeng opens his mouth, about to protest, but quickly shuts it when he follows Gyeonghwan’s almost predatory gaze, a smirk of his own blossoming on his face. Bumhyeon follows their line of sight to Jaeha, and he feels a stab of concern for him that’s quickly washed away by awkwardness when he realizes that he’s now left alone with the man he had probably scarred for life just hours ago.

 

“Uh,” Bumhyeon starts, clearing his throat. “I promise I’m not a serial killer?”

 

Jongin, against all odds, laughs. The air between them is still a little tense, and Bumhyeon has never thought that he would crave one of Kyungho’s untimely interruptions. “I believe you,” He grins, and Bumhyeon blinks, a little stunned at how bright it is.

 

“Here, we should start again,” Jongin suggests, sticking a hand out. Bumhyeon feels his breath leave him at how unexpectedly charismatic he is, and stretches his own hand out to take it. “I’m Kim Jongin. I think potential serial killers are pretty cute,” He says as an introduction, grin crooked.

 

Bumhyeon laughs, this time, a genuine one, even as the blush that’s still on his face deepens further in colour. “Kang Bumhyeon,” He replies, smiling so widely his cheeks hurt. “Not a potential serial killer.”

 

Jongin laughs again, and the sound makes butterflies in Bumhyeon’s stomach flutter their wings and take off in a turbulent flight. The other man’s eyes are twinkling, mischief shining in them, and Bumhyeon has never been so glad that Wangho told a lie.

 

“Let’s hope so.”

**Author's Note:**

> in case it's confusing!  
> kyungho + wangho, 1st floor  
> seohaeng + gyeonghwan, 4th floor  
> bumhyeon, 6th floor  
> don't ask why they all live in the same apartment building, please. artistic liberty, and all that.
> 
> fun little titbit: bumhyeon is actually me. i did scare a man out of his wits, staring at my grandmother's knives as i was borrowing them to prep lobster. only i never got a cute adc boyfriend out of it. 
> 
> please leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed reading! humour is not my strong suit (i'm not even sure if this counts as humour at all), but i hope you liked it anyways!
> 
>  
> 
> ~~btw, 60% kurin? angel's fault.~~


End file.
